


Don't Say "I Do"

by Roehrborn



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Crack, Ed still has some brain problems but he's doing his best, Fake Marriage, Feelings, Humor, Jealousy, Lee is as done as done can be, M/M, Political Marriage, Romance, Snark, Sofia Falcone: non-malicious master manipulator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 12:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12748077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roehrborn/pseuds/Roehrborn
Summary: Edward is in agony. Has the world gonemad? Oswald Cobblepot is getting married toSofia Falcone, and everyone is acting like this is completely normal! Except one person…and it’s not one he would have expected…In which Edward Nygma and Carmine Falcone conspire to stop a wedding.





	Don't Say "I Do"

**Author's Note:**

> I think I managed to turn Gotham into a gay romcom. Not sure how I feel about that, overall.
> 
> A huge thank you to my wonderful beta, Flux!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> ~R

~~~

__

_ANNOUNCEMENTS_

_Sofia Falcone, noted philanthropist and_  
_entrepreneur, is to be married to Oswald Cobblepot,_  
_former mayor of Gotham and owner of the Iceberg_  
_Lounge. A December wedding is planned._

~~~

“ _Why didn’t you tell me_?”

“ _Knocking_!” Lee shouts. “We _discussed_ this!”

Edward slaps his hand over his eyes, the newspaper gripped in his left hand making a _thwapping_ sound as it impacts his face. It blocks out the sight of Lee perched in Cherry’s lap. They’re both in a state of undress he rather wishes he could unsee.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands, a little quieter but no less frantic. “You should have _told_ me.”

“Told you _what_?”

“ _Oswald_ is marrying _Sofia Falcone_ ,” Ed says, with all the calmness and maturity of a hysteric toddler denied their beloved Teddy.

“You’re getting on my last nerve, beanpole,” Cherry murmurs, voice smooth and dissatisfied.

“Why would I _tell_ you?” Lee asks. “Why do you need to know? Hey, and why do you think _I_ knew?”

Edward wiggles the newspaper in his hands, but he’s afraid to take it away from his eyes and hand it to her. “You’re listed as a member of the bride’s wedding party.”

“Shit,” Lee mutters. “They weren’t supposed to—I bet it was _him_.”

No time to puzzle out what that means. “ _Why_ would he do this? He doesn’t have time for romance! Doesn’t he know that I’m coming after him as soon as I’m smart again?”

“That may be a while,” Cherry says snidely.

“And with _her_ , the daughter of Carmine Falcone, the man Oswald famously betrayed and almost murdered? Why would _she_ want to marry _him_ , for that matter?”

“I think you’re overlooking the obvious reason,” Lee says drily.

“She seduced him with—with wiles?”

He hears Cherry snort, rudely, and there’s a little pause before Lee responds, “ _Suuuuuuure_. That.”

“I knew it,” Edward growls. “There’s no other explanation. This is absurd.”

There’s a faint murmured exchange and then Lee finally speaks up. “Well, I don’t think any of us were necessarily expecting _The Penguin_ to _settle down_ , but—”

“He _would_ have,” Edward interrupts, obviously agitated at the inaccuracy of her statement. “He was more-or-less _hoping_ to.”

“—but Ed, it’s not _really_ your business, is it?”

“How _isn’t_ it my business?” Edward demands, outraged in an instant. “I was denied _my_ ideal vision of the future and I’ll—I won’t _stand_ for him getting a happily-ever-after. He doesn’t deserve it. Not for him. Not allowed. He needs to be _lonely_ , and _friendless_ , and then when he least expects it, I’ll be smart again and I’ll show up at the Iceberg and he won’t believe that I’m smart at first so I’ll have to do something to get his attention and—”

“ _Ed_!”

He breaks off abruptly, his arms falling down by his sides. “What?”

“Sounds great,” Lee says flatly. “Look, I’m _busy_ , so if you don’t mind?” She shifts on Cherry’s lap.

Edward’s mouth drops open and he claps his hand back over his eyes. “I’m _going_ , I’m _going_.”

He runs into the doorframe on his way out.

~~~

“I’m coming with you.”

Lee doesn’t look up from her purse. “No, you’re not.”

“If you don’t…” Edward frowns, wracking his brain. “If you don’t let me…”

“Yeah, Ed?” she says, very sarcastically. “What’ll you do?”

He bites his bottom lip. “I’ll…pull Grundy out and then Cherry will make you.”

Lee rolls her eyes expressively. “I never should have told you that, should I have? Look, we’re not even seeing Penguin. I’m just meeting up with Sofia to talk about my responsibilities.”

“How do you even know her?”

“She’s my _sister-in-law_ , Ed,” Lee says, voice sharp and biting. “My husband, her brother, was killed by Jim Gordon. This must be very difficult for her, if she’s resorting…”

“Why would that be difficult?”

Lee stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowed and lips thin. “I can’t with you,” she says finally. “I really can’t. You can come along, but only if you keep your mouth shut. She’s my family, Ed; probably the only family I have left, and I’m going to do what I can to make this easy for her.”

Edward bounces on the balls of his feet. “So I can come?”

“ _Yes_.”

It’s not until she’s reached the door that another thought occurs to him. “Wait—if she’s your sister-in-law, and she’s getting m-married,” (why was that so difficult to say?) “then that will make Oswald—”

“—my brother-in-law,” Lee agrees grimly.

“Oh dear,” Edward says. He feels faint. Another shaky breath and Lee’s out the door, so he quickly clenches his hands into nervous fists and strides out after her.

~~~

Sofia Falcone is just as lovely in person as she is on the television screen.

_Damn it._

Edward had been holding out a hope—but it was true that Oswald had refined tastes. He’d been attracted to Ed, hadn’t he? Although now that Ed thinks about it, Oswald had never addressed _that_ dimension of his feelings. Certainly, it would have been awkward given the rather _fraught_ state between them, but he suddenly wishes that Oswald had been a little clearer on the matter. A little more straightforward. A little more _open_ and _candid_ as to whether he had indeed ever felt the desire to put his hands on Ed’s bare skin and…

…and…

…and both Lee and Sofia are staring at him now. “What?” he demands hastily, clenching his hands into fists.

“…Charmed,” Sofia says, which Edward remembers as an old-fashioned phrase used when two individuals meet for the first time. Old-fashioned, like Oswald prefers; it’s something Oswald would say when trying to impress…

“ _Likewise_ ,” Ed bites out. It doesn’t sound remotely genuine, but he doesn’t particularly care.

For the most part, Sofia and Lee ignore him. Apparently they have things to discuss, things such as _flowers_ —(Edward just barely refrains from blurting out that Oswald _hates_ peonies when Lee suggests it)—and _caterers_ —(“Oh, Oswald’s staff is handling that”)—and _dresses_ —(“I like the idea of a plum, or perhaps a mulberry”). It isn’t until they break for lunch, sitting down at one of the Iceberg Lounge’s exquisite dining tables, that Edward manages to get a word in.

And the word is: “A three-syllable first name sounds _terrible_ with Cobblepot.” He shovels a bite of the salad into his mouth, furrowing his brows at the shockingly _healthy_ taste of iceberg— _Iceberg!_ —lettuce.

Lee groans audibly.

Sofia blinks at him serenely. Her eyelashes aren’t as long as Oswald’s. “He’s taking my name.”

Edward can feel his muscles tensing.

“He’s _what_?” Edward snarls. Lee puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Lee says. “Ed’s a bit…”

“Oswald _Fff_ —” The name slurs and catches; he can’t force it out of his mouth. “Oswald _Fffffaaaa_ —” This is really difficult.

“My name carries a weight that his does not,” Sofia says, voice too smooth. “We’re both aware of that fact.”

“Oh,” Edward says. “So I suppose _you_ built your way up from nothing. I suppose the _Falcone_ name carries with it the position of mayor. I suppose _you_ know a lot about carving out a place for _yourself_ , shaping your own existence to fit with your goals and dreams. I suppose _you_ —”

“ _Ed_.” Lee’s voice is deadly cold, and her grip on his shoulder is sharp and painful.

“It’s quite all right,” Sofia says. Her eyes are large and her mouth curled in a faint, solemn smile. “I’m not offended. He’s right; I’ve been in my father’s shadow my whole life.”

She pulls her lower lip into her mouth, biting down for a moment before releasing it. “But Oswald,” she murmurs finally, stepping closer to him, “is giving me the chance to carve out that place for myself. By his side.”

…He…

He’s going to kill her.

He’s going to kill her _right now_.

“ _Ed_.” Lee’s hand holds his wrist in a vice-like grip. “Don’t even—I apologize for him, Sofia. God, this is embarrassing. I was kinda hoping this’d help him come to terms with it, actually, but—”

With an unconcerned, nonchalant air, Sofia shrugs daintily. “It’s no problem. It’s been _elucidating_ , regardless.”

“Still, I’m responsible for him and I—”

“—I’m responsible for _myself_ ,” Ed interjects mulishly. He tries to tug his wrist out of her grip, but she holds firm.

“He’s really not,” Lee apologizes. “You’ve got enough on your plate with…all of this. I shouldn’t have brought him. Especially what with…”

Sofia’s expression catches. It’s minuscule, but there: a tell Edward has learned to recognize _very well_ , because it’s _Oswald’s_ tell. His hands clench into fists.

“I’d rather not discuss _it_ ,” Sofia says, in what is an obvious attempt to placate Lee and reinforce whatever misguided ideas were in her mind without outright _confirming_ them and giving Edward some tools with which to deflect her machinations.

“I know what you’re doing,” he tells her darkly, and Lee’s grip tightens on his wrist.

“I’m so sorry,” Lee tells the other woman. “I really should’ve left him, shouldn’t I have? But I’m pretty sure he would have followed me anyway, so…”

Oh, that was smart. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“I know what you mean,” Sofia says airily. “If I didn’t know that Oswald had Zsasz with him, I couldn’t have trusted him to stay away.”

“ _He knows Oswald better than you ever will_ ,” Edward snarls, quite unintentionally, and both of the women turn to stare at him with wide, dark eyes.

“All right, that’s enough,” Lee says. “You can’t be trusted with this _privilege_. I’ll have Cherry watch you.”

“I don’t need to be watched,” Edward tells her in a frustrated voice, but she ignores him, as usual.

~~~

The first time he sees Oswald again is at the rehearsal dinner.

He looks _different_ than he always used to. There’s something inescapably _sharp_ about him now. His profile more severe, his suit angles harsher, his grip on his cane draconian. His limp, too, is more pronounced—seems everyone has their little _challenges_.

When Oswald sees him, it’s obvious. His eyes widen, and then narrow. His upper lip curls. His cane squeaks against the floor as his grip on it strengthens. Beside him, Sofia puts a hand on his forearm but he waves her away and begins to stride toward Edward purposefully.

It only takes him a few heartbeats until he’s standing directly in front of Edward, nose-to-breastbone with him.

“I’m sure you won’t mind showing me your invitation,” Oswald says pointedly, and Edward’s heart starts racing uncontrollably in his chest.

“I’m Lee Thompkins’ plus one.”

“She didn’t have one,” Oswald responds icily, “as you well know.” He takes a step forward and jabs Edward in the breastbone with one pointy index finger. “Listen, I don’t think we need to bother to beat around the bush.”

“Oh?”

“Keep your nose out of this,” Oswald snaps. “Don’t try to interfere, or I’ll call Victor to deal with you. You can _guess_ which one.”

Edward scowls. “I never thought you’d be this _foolish_ , Oswald.”

Oswald’s lip curls back from his teeth, revealing an animalian snarl. “Don’t lie to me, Ed. You _always_ thought I’d be this foolish. That’s what you’ve proven to me time and time again, isn’t it? That you think I’m a fool.”

Blinking disconcertedly, Edward frowns. “Wait, what—”

“But I ask you to at least have the _sense_ to acknowledge that I have superior resources at the moment, and _you_ can’t manage a riddle to save your ass. So spare me the _theatrics_.” And with that, Oswald whirls on his heel, coattails furling out behind him, and he makes his strident, commanding way back to Sofia’s side.

“…Who’s theatric?” Edward mutters mulishly to himself, but all of the guests around him are suddenly pretending that he’s invisible.

~~~

A few hours later, the party has moved out into the courtyard. The guests are mingling and Edward scowls at the sight of all their finery and sophistication. Most of them scurry under ledges and trees when the sprinkle of rain begins to fall, but Edward stands stubbornly in the open, arms crossed and suit jacket beginning to cling to his skin as he slowly and surely becomes completely soaked. His hair is plastered onto his forehead, but he’s too…annoyed…to bother to comb it back.

Some distance away, the happy couple stand beneath an umbrella. The pitter-patter of rain seems to disturb neither, as they stand making what Edward can only assume are idiotic sappy faces at one another.

“They’re not _remotely_ suited for each other,” Edward says forcefully to himself.

“He’s shorter than her,” an unfamiliar voice agrees, dolefully.

Edward tilts his head to catch the sight of Carmine Falcone out of the corner of his eye, dressed to the nines and wearing an expression fit for his son’s funeral, not his daughter’s wedding rehearsal.

“And even if they _were_ ,” Edward continues, “he doesn’t _deserve_ this.”

Carmine nods solemnly beside him. “That man is a demon.”

“I _know_.”

“I can’t _believe_ my only daughter…” Carmine says, voice rough.

“ _Why can’t he see through it_?” Edward demands in an aggravated hiss.

“…my dear girl, my only living child…”

“Is he _that_ susceptible to hamfisted manipulation?”

“…is to be _wedded_ to _that man_ ,” Falcone concludes, funereally.

For several long, plodding minutes, the two men stand strangely companionably in the open, the droplets raining down on both their heads. Edward inhales, and his lungs are flooded with damp, cool air, at once calming and aggravating. He feels a droplet roll down the back of his head and neck, making him shiver voluntarily, and he scowls.

“Carmine,” says Edward sharply. “We’ve got to stop this.”

Carmine turns to face him, his eyes drifting up and down Edward’s frame with an intense, scrutinizing gaze. “How?” he asks eventually, voice skeptical but curious.

Edward straightens. “We’ve got to stop this wedding. And to do that, we have to make them realize how _utterly_ and _totally_ unsuited they are for each other. They could _never_ be each other’s life partners, to hold and to cherish for the rest of their lives. For better and worse, richer and poorer, in sickness and in health…” His throat is feeling very dry and he clears it, forcefully. Carmine is watching him carefully. “…‘till death do them part,” Edward finishes in a rush. “So…they just…need to realize that.”

“Have you ever been married, Edward?” Carmine asks suddenly.

“No,” Edward says flatly.

“Ever close?”

Edward stares at him, not sure what to say. Carmine watches him closely with watery pale eyes.

The pause seems to drag on for a _very_ long time.

Eventually Carmine clears his throat. “We have our work ahead of us. The wedding is just in five days. If they haven’t already gotten cold feet, it’ll be difficult to convince them that they’re making the wrong decision.”

“Oswald always has cold feet,” Edward tells Carmine.

“I’m sorry?”

“He has poor circulation from the injury. And a genetic predisposition to it.”

“My comment was…metaphorical.”

“Oh.”

~~~

“Ta- _DAH_!”

It’s been a while since he’s had the chance to show anyone the true depth and breadth of his genius. Well—he’s not at the top of his game right now, he _knows_ that, Oswald made it _perfectly_ clear—but he can still put together a web of clues like nobody’s business. He bounces on the balls of his feet as Carmine steps into the room, eyes widening at the sight of Ed’s _thorough_ preparations.

“What do you think?” Ed asks, eagerly.

Carmine stares for a moment before turning to Edward. He hasn’t even fully entered the room yet. “Why are eighty percent of these close-ups of Penguin’s face?”

Edward frowns, irritated. He would’ve thought that _Don Falcone_ , of all people, would be able to appreciate it. “To read his expressions,” Edward spells out. “ _Anyone_ can see he was happier as mayor than he is now.”

Carmine raises his eyebrows, but does finally deign to step into the room and examine the section of wall closest to him. “Is that a surprise? As mayor, he was in a position of power unlike any other—that’s what he always wanted.”

“ _No_ ,” Edward snaps. “You’re overlooking—” He sighs harshly, resting his hands on his hips and turning perpendicular to Carmine. “He’s not _happy_ when he’s in power. He _likes_ it, but it doesn’t make him _content_.”

He hears Carmine hum. “I suppose you do have a brain on your shoulders after all,” he says quietly, and Edward bristles. Carmine raises his voice to continue: “Regardless, how does that feature into the wedding?”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Edward says, “he said he was _in love_ with me, and he looked like _that_.” Edward indicates a photo of the two of them side-by-side, which had been a first-page above-the-fold feature. And it _looks_ like one, the image sharp and clear and the expressions on both their faces unmistakable delight. “And this is him _now_.” He indicates one of Oswald and Sofia’s engagement photos, the stern, vaguely pleasant expressions. The angle makes it unclear, but he’s not even sure Oswald’s arm around Sofia’s waist is even _touching_ her. “He looks _grim_.”

“So does she,” Carmine adds.

“Yes, sure,” Edward snips impatiently. “But this is about _him_.”

“It’s about _them_ ,” Carmine corrects.

“Okay, _fine_ ,” Edward allows, raising his arms in the air in exasperation. “It’s about _both_ of them. How they’re _both_ unhappy. Whatever.”

“So what’s the plan, then?” Carmine asks. “As much as I would like to continue this argument.”

“What’s the most annoying thing about Sofia?”

“What?”

Edward sighs sharply. “We have to make them realize that they’re incompatible. What’s the most annoying thing about Sofia?”

“My daughter is _kind_ , _cultured_ , and _intelligent_. She doesn’t _have_ any significant flaws.”

“That!” Edward announces triumphantly. “That’s perfect!”

“What?” Carmine asks, but Edward is already out the door.

~~~

“She’s too cultured.”

“ _What_?” Oswald squawks, leaping about half a foot off the ground and whirling on his heel. “ _Edward Nygma_. Why…are you hiding behind the window curtains?”

Edward peeks his head out a little further. “She’s too cultured,” he repeats doggedly. “Oswald, you’ll hate it.”

“I don’t—” Oswald’s brow furrows and he stares at Edward for a moment. “Are you…calling me uncouth?”

“No, I’m saying that _she’s_ too _refined_ ,” Edward tries to insist, but Oswald talks over him.

“ _You’re_ saying that _I’m_ undignified!” Oswald snaps. “Can’t you go a few hours without popping out of the—the _windows_ and insulting me? Can’t let me get _too_ content with myself, can you? Get out of here, Ed!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Edward says, feeling a bit confused. How had this conversation gotten so out of hand so quickly?

“If you won’t leave, I _will_ ,” Oswald bites out, and good as his word, he turns on his heel and marches away.

~~~

“…Miss Falcone.”

“Mr. Nygma?”

Edward clenches his hands into fists. “I need to talk to you.”

Sofia looks around herself a little uncertainly, as if checking for cameras or an audience. “…All right?” she says finally, hesitantly. “What did you need to say?”

“You _can’t_ marry him,” Edward says forcefully, and her brows furrow in confusion. “He’s selfish,” Edward adds hastily, “and self-centered. And terrible. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

Sofia takes an uncertain step, glancing toward the door and then back to him. “Do you truly think I’m so unobservant as to not have understood his flaws?”

_Damn it_. “ _Look_ ,” Edward insists, “you don’t know what he’s _like_. He throws _tantrums_ when he doesn’t get what he wants. He yells! He complains all the time!”

“Can you lower your voice?” Sofia asks calmly.

“I _won’t_!” Edward howls. “Why won’t anyone _listen_ to me? This is _madness_! How does _anyone_ think this is going to turn out well? Do you think he’s in _love_ with you? Because he’s _not_!” He stops talking, breathing heavily and angrily. It’s like trying to talk sense into a brick wall!

“Do you realize you’re throwing a tantrum right now?” Sofia questions after a pause.

Edward lets out a supremely Oswald-esque noise, something like an uncontrolled screech, and removes himself from her presence posthaste.

~~~

“Ed,” Lee says.

Edward hums in acknowledgement, staring down at one of Oswald’s engagement photos. More accurately, half of one of Oswald’s engagement photos—the half with Sofia has been cut out.

“Someone wants to talk to you.”

“I’m busy.”

“It’s Oswald.”

“What?” Edward demands. “What?”

“Oswald’s out front, and he wants to talk to you,” Lee tells him impatiently.

“Oh, good,” Edward says eagerly. “Did you know that Sofia had sex with Jim Gordon?”

“Can you _not_ talk to me about that?” Lee says sharply. “God, Ed, have some _tact_.”

“Oh.” Edward frowns uncertainly. “Sorry.”

Oswald is indeed waiting for him out front. His suit is somber black, his tie an unimaginative blue. It looks too subdued for Oswald, and especially for his recent styles. He’s always been a fan of more decorative ties and patterned suits.

“She cheated on you, Oswald!” he announces gleefully.

“What?”

“She slept with Jim Gordon!”

Oswald shuts his eyes. Edward waits eagerly as Oswald shifts his grip on his cane. This is it! Oswald will finally realize—

“I knew.”

—that he’s…

Wait.

What?

“You knew?”

“That was before we decided to… regardless, it doesn’t bother me. She’s welcome to him.”

“I don’t…understand.”

“You never do.”

Oswald looks _exhausted_. His eyes are lined, his expression weary. His tie is a little crooked, and Edward fights back the urge to straighten it.

“Leave me alone.”

Edward blinks. What? “What?”

“All of it. Stop harassing me. Stop harassing her. Stop trying to break this up, Edward. You’re not really in a position to be _stopping_ me. So just…let it be. Please.”

Edward’s mouth drops open. He doesn’t know what to say. Oswald watches him for a little longer, eyes shining and lips downturned.

“Goodnight, Ed,” Oswald finally says, and turns and walks out.

~~~

He sips on his third grasshopper morosely. The world has taken on a fuzzy edge, but the alcohol hasn’t managed to break him out of the upset little fugue he’s in.

“You’ve done your best,” Carmine says, philosophically. He takes a sip of his whisky on the rocks and signals the bartender for another. “As have I. He’s a wily one, no doubt about that, but retribution will come when he least expects it.”

“ _Retribution_?” Edward scoffs. “His retribution _ought_ to be being forced to live out his life alone. But that won’t happen now unless your _daughter_ dies, and I’m sure you don’t want _that_.”

Carmine sighs heavily. “I never thought he would be the sentimental type, but it appears he is.”

“Of course he is,” Edward says morosely. “He always has been. He cares very much for _certain_ people: his mother, Jimbo in the past, and—and _me_ , once, and now, I suppose, _her_. And now he’s sent me away and I’m here alone and I’m no longer his equal and am I even worth anything then? If I can’t challenge him? And he…” His voice fails him; he chokes on his own spit. “…gets to be happy. Without me.”

The older man watches him, watery eyes narrow and calculating. Edward swallows and raises his hand to his own cheek, feeling the nervous flush to his skin. He takes a hefty sip of his grasshopper.

“You should tell him,” Carmine says, softly.

Edward bites his tongue. He stares down at his martini glass, swirling the drink around and watching the inverse hurricane that results. “It’s too late,” he murmurs.

“You don’t know that.”

“He _hates_ me. And I—I can’t _think_.”

“So?”

Edward leans his head onto one of his hands, allowing his eyes to unfocus and blur. “I’m not worth anything to him.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

Edward doesn’t respond.

There’s the clink of ice against Carmine’s tumbler as he downs the rest of his drink. “Tomorrow’s your last chance, anyway,” he says, a little too nonchalantly. “Last chance to get them to call it off. I’d say it’s worth a try.”

When he blinks his eyes a wilful tear escapes, falling onto his glasses lens. “Yeah,” Edward murmurs. He clears his throat and straightens, pulling off his glasses in one swift move and wiping them on his sleeve. “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” Carmine says, calmly, calculatedly. Edward bobs his head in vague agreement and pushes himself off his barstool.

“I’ve got a plan to make,” Edward tells the other man, a little unsteadily. He clears his throat. “Thank you, Carmine.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Carmine says, a little darkly, but Edward’s already too caught up in his own thoughts to question him.

~~~

_THE WEDDING DAY_

~~~

Edward disguises himself as best he can, but he still gets stopped by the bouncers at the door. He has to wait until they’re distracted and sneak in an upstairs window. Once inside the building, he ducks into the closest men’s restroom and sheds his disguise, revealing his own familiar face and trademark metallic green suit (although it has, of course, been dry cleaned and pressed for the occasion).

He misses most of the beginning of the ceremony, but that’s for the best—if he’d been forced to witness either of them going down the aisle, or witness Carmine—the _traitor_!—arm-in-arm with his daughter, he may have been driven to revealing himself prematurely.

As it is, he hides in the back of the church until that most ominous of phrases: “…speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“I object!” he calls out, rising to his feet and stepping onto the seat of one of the back-row chairs. “Oswald, you _can’t_!”

“ _Ed_!” Oswald hisses furiously from the alter. “What the _hell_ are you doing? I gave explicit instructions—”

“You’re not really in love with her!” Edward shouts. “You know that and _I_ know that. Why are you continuing with this charade?”

“Why are you continuing with _yours_?” Oswald bellows down the aisle. He’s turned so he’s facing Edward directly, oblivious to the horrified look on the priest’s face and the amused one on the bride’s. “Can’t you let me at least _pretend_ to be happy, you sanctimonious _idiot_?”

“But you’re not!”

“Not _what_?”

“Happy, and you never will be!”

Oswald throws his arms into the air so violently that the priest behind him falls over. Oswald ignores the commotion and screams back at Edward: “ _I am very well aware of that; thanks for reminding me_!”

“No, I meant—” But Oswald ignores him, beginning to stride unevenly down the aisle; he left his cane in the hands of his best man—Victor Zsasz? How…odd—and so he limps, aggressively. “Oswald, I meant—”

“ _What did you mean_?” Oswald snarls. He’s getting close quite quickly; he can move _fast_ when he wants to.

“I meant you won’t be happy with _her_ ,” Edward says in a rush. “You’ll never be happy with _her_.”

“And? How is that any of your business?” Oswald is two steps away.

“Because I—”

“—can’t bear to see me _happy_?”

“ _Yes_!” Edward shouts, and Oswald’s _right there_ , _inches_ away, and without thinking he grabs Oswald’s lapel and drags him forward and presses his lips to Oswald’s, too quickly, too harshly, but his heart is racing in his chest and tears are prickling in his eyes and Oswald freezes against him tellingly.

After a moment, Edward pulls away.

“…without me.”

“What?” Oswald looks dazed, stunned stupid.

“I can’t bear to see you happy…without me.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine, then,” Oswald says giddily. He stares up at Edward with wide eyes.

“…What?”

“Because I’m never going to let you out of my sight again,” Oswald says, “so you’ll never be without me.”

“Oh,” Edward whispers. “That works.”

Oswald’s arm comes to rest on the back of his neck and drags him back down. This kiss lasts longer, and when Oswald presses his tongue to Edward’s lips, Edward lets him in, letting Oswald _devour_ him, and distantly he hears a few vague sounds of disgust, but he couldn’t care _less_.

They break apart when a throat clears next to them, pointedly. Sofia is standing a few feet from Oswald, a pleased smile on her lips. “I did _tell_ you,” she says smugly, and Oswald scowls mulishly at her.

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” Oswald snips vaguely. “He never…”

“Congratulations,” Sofia interrupts, “to both of you. But maybe you’d better move this somewhere else, if—”

A camera flash goes off, and Edward blinks wildly as he realizes they’re surrounded by all of Gotham’s wealthiest and most criminal. “Oh,” Edward says.

“Yes,” Sofia responds.

“Er—” Oswald shifts uncomfortably on his feet and raises his voice. “Excuse us, everyone—we…. Well, anyway, help yourself to the refreshments.” He grabs Edward’s hand in his and tugs until Edward follows him with quick steps, and they rush down the aisle and out of the church hall hand-in-hand.

They pause there, turning to face each other once again; Oswald takes Edward’s other hand in his own. “Ed, I…”

“Yes?” Edward asks breathlessly.

“Ed, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” Oswald asks, and Edward almost wants to laugh, but he wants to kiss Oswald even more.

So: “Yes,” he says, and leans in to capture Oswald’s lips in his own. And Oswald’s hands tighten on his, and he lets out such a soft, content noise that Edward feels like his heart is mending itself whole.

**FIN.**


End file.
